Return From Darkness
by blueseacowboy
Summary: When tragedy strikes, Lee struggles to find his way, knowing nothing will ever be the same.
1. Chapter 1

Return From Darkness

Revised version of my first Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea story that appeared originally in _Silent Running_ _3_ in 1998

Chapter one

Captain Lee Crane paced back and forth in front of the huge windows in the Observation Nose of the submarine _Seaview_, an overwhelming feeling of foreboding filling him. Something wasn't right. He could feel it. Admiral Nelson along with Chief Sharkey had left for the mainland of Qualan over two hours ago and no word had been received since their initial contact. He rubbed a hand through his jet black hair and walked slowly to the periscope island.

"Chip, do you see anything?" he asked his second in command, Chip Morton, for the third time in the past fifteen minutes.

"Nothing, Skipper. Just a few British and American Navy ships, laying far off shore and a fishing boat docking at the pier. I don't..."

"Captain!" The tense voice of the radio operator interrupted Morton.

"What is it, Sparks?" Crane asked as he ran to the radio shack.

"Sir, I'm picking up radio transmissions from all around the Capital area."

"Can you understand what they're saying?" Crane asked.

"No sir. I can't make it out but whatever they're saying must be pretty important judging from the tone. They sound…agitated."

Crane turned back towards the crew and scanned their faces, finally settling on one.

"Sarno, come here on the double!"

Sarno hurried to his captain's side.

"Sir?"

"Sarno, you're fluent in the language and dialects of this area aren't you?"

"Yes sir. Most of them," he replied.

"Can you understand what these radio transmissions are about?" the captain asked, giving him the headphones.

Holding the headset to his ear, he listened intently for a moment. His face changed from one of concentration to one of astonishment.

"Sir! They're transmissions from the rebels. They're talking about taking over the Capital complex! Something about their plan working." He put the headset back to his ear and listened for another moment. Slowly, he dropped his hand and stared at the captain the blood draining from his face. "Sir, they say everyone within the Capital complex is to be...be..."

"Be what Sarno? Speak up."

"Sir, they're all to be killed. No matter who they are!" he said, his hand shaking as he said it.

"Sparks! Try raising the admiral! Find out if he knows what's going on!" Crane yelled, his pulse racing as he pondered the danger Nelson was in. "Tell him it's urgent, Sparks!"

Turning back to the young man beside him, he said softly, "Sarno, keep listening. Find out where the rebel forces are if you can and how close they are to the Capital itself." _And the admiral_, he thought to himself.

"Helm, take us closer to the shore. All ahead one third. Lay offshore 1000 feet."

Worry filled Crane as he sorted through all the possible scenarios. He had felt uneasy about this mission from the first Nelson had told him of it and had argued with him up to the last minute, even trying to convince Nelson to let him come along as back up. All to no avail. The only concession he would agree to was taking Chief Francis Sharkey along. The last night on shore before they'd left for Qualan, he'd had dinner with the admiral at Nelson's home, and he had laid out what their mission was.

"Lee, the President has requested our attendance at the peace talks between the rebel forces in Qualan and the government."

"You mean the President wants _you_ at the talks," Crane said with a slight smile at his friend.

Nelson picked up his coffee cup and smiled back. "Something like that. Apparently the rebels claim to have developed a weapon that can destroy their country ten times over. I, along with other representatives from around the world, have been asked by the Qualan president, and the rebels, to attend the conference to determine whether that is true or not. The rebels claim they will prove to representatives from around the world of the might of this weapon. If what they say is true, the government of Qualan may have no choice but to capitulate to the demands of the rebels."

"How could a band of rebels have developed a weapon the size they are intimating?" Crane asked.

"Speculation for the past 18 months has been that the rebels have been aided by outside forces. Their weapons have taken an upgrade; they seem to have acquired a small naval fleet consisting of a destroyer and a few cruisers, plus their munitions seem to be endless."

"Another country is aiding them?" Crane asked, leaning forward worriedly.

"Exactly. It doesn't take a genius to know the rebels have no facilities to develop anything. But, there are reports out of Asia that a small, obscure country with ties to one of our biggest enemies has been building a facility in its mountainous interior. Spy satellites have watched the progress and the Pentagon has become increasingly worried of what exactly they are doing."

"What has the Pentagon been doing other than becoming uneasy?" Crane asked.

Nelson folded his hands and leaned forward. "Several times over the past 8 months, agents have entered the country across a neutral border. None of those agents has been heard from again."

Crane whistled softly. "What's the name of this country?"

"It's a small obscure country as I said. It's called Bahkan."

"Bahkan. I've heard of that country before. Why do I know it?" he asked.

"Probably because they were in the news a few months ago. A large explosion rocked the country. It was felt for several hundred miles around. Speculation again was they had set off some kind of device of unknown origin. Satellite images showed a vast section of the interior of the country was devastated."

"I remember that!"

"Right."

"How would a country the size of this Bahkan be developing anything we should be worried about?"

"Again, conjecture is they're receiving help, materials and Intel from our friends-The People's Republic."

"And this Bahkan is helping the rebels?"

"That's what the intelligence community believes."

"And indirectly, The People's Republic is aiding them." Crane leaned back in his seat, a worried expression on his face. "Admiral, if this all boils down to a plot by The People's Republic, you could be in a great deal of danger."

Nelson nodded. "Agreed. The US government has had that drawn to their attention. Repeatedly. But if the rebels have a weapon such as the one they described, we need to know. And the only way it seems we will know is if we see their plans and possibly the actual weapon."

"And we can't do that any other way than by sending you and other experts to this conference?"

Nelson spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "It would seem all our objections have been dismissed. If this is the only way, then we have no choice."

"And what about your security? Yours and the others? What steps are being taken?"

"A contingent of Marines has been dispatched already to secure the area. Plus, the Qualan government has its own forces ready and waiting in the Capital area."

"That hardly seems like enough protection!"

Nelson raised one shoulder in a shrug and smiled. "Nevertheless, it's what we have. _Seaview_ will remain off the coast along with several warships from our allies. Hopefully, we won't need assistance from the Marines or the ships, assuming any help would be allowed," he said as he leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. "But if this supposed weapon exists, it may be the catalyst to ending this war that has been waged for far too long between the government and the rebels."

"Captain! I have Admiral Nelson on the view screen, sir," Sparks called out urgently, pulling Crane back to the present. Hurriedly, he walked to the view screen monitor. Within seconds the harried face of Admiral Harriman Nelson came into view. Jacket off and shirt sleeves rolled up, he was calmly issuing orders to a few Marines standing near him.

Nelson turned to the screen and smiled wryly. "Lee, I guess you've heard our news?"

"We just picked up transmissions from the Capital district. Is it true? Are you under attack?"

As if in response to his question, an explosion somewhere outside the building the admiral was in sent shards of glass and bits of wood showering down on Nelson as he tried to cover his head against the attack.

"We had little warning this was in the offing," Nelson shouted as more soldiers and civilians ran past. "We were able to get the Qualan president and most of his cabinet out before the attack actually began. Where they are right now, I have no idea. They were escorted by a contingent of American and British Marines."

Nelson turned to issue more orders to more Marines carrying automatic rifles. "Cover the far doors. Don't let anyone past you. And good luck. We're going to need it."

"We still have a few of our own contingent here," he said as he turned back to the screen. "Several of the scientists were trying to escape but are trapped in the lower levels from what I've heard. We're trying to reach them now but I'm not holding out much hope. The British and the French have set up barricades along with the Qualan forces still loyal to the government. We've been trying to set up barriers on each floor, but it doesn't seem to be having much effect on them. I don't think we can hold out much longer."

Just then Chief Francis Sharkey, who had been quite proud to have been asked to accompany the admiral as a sort of bodyguard, ran up carrying two M-16 rifles and two ammo magazines. "This is all I could find, sir."

Taking the offered gun, Nelson checked the magazine and busied himself for a moment loading the gun. He looked up after a moment and hesitated, an indefinable look passed over his face and then said, "Lee, I want you to get the _Seaview_ out of territorial waters. Once you're safely at sea, contact Admiral Starke. He's aboard the _Harker_. Tell him what's happened, although he's probably already been informed, and await further orders."

Crane rebelled at the thought of leaving his best friend without trying to do something to help. "Admiral, I can have a squad of fifty men there in fifteen minutes. We can..."

"No Lee. It would be a pointless waste of lives. There's nothing you can do. By the time you can get here…it will all be over." Nelson smiled apologetically at Crane, knowing the anguish his friend was feeling. "It doesn't look good this time, Lee," he said softly. "Now do what I said and get my boat and my crew out of there and to safety. We know the rebels have access to ships. They may have added a few planes to their arsenal. They won't hesitate to blow you out of the water."

Just then a loud explosion rocked the room and Nelson was knocked to the floor, blood pouring from a cut on his forehead.

"Admiral, they've broken through the outer barricade!" an unseen voice cried.

The admiral pulled himself from the floor and directed the men to set up defensive positions. Nelson, Sharkey and the others in the room began firing.

Crane watched in horror, helpless as his friends fired round after round at the attackers. For a moment, Crane thought they might be able to hold out but then a machine gun blast hit the admiral and Crane watched in horror as his best friend fell to the floor in a pool of blood. Stunned, Crane saw Sharkey fall to the floor beside his commanding officer and reach out a hand to him. He rose, his face contorted with anger and, with a bellow of rage, yelled, "You animals! You killed him! You no good..." Before he could complete his sentence, a shot hit the Chief in the head and he fell to the floor beside the admiral and lay still.

Silence reigned on the submarine as they watched in disbelief the bodies of their friend and commanding officer lie unmoving on the floor their blood flowing onto the debris strewn floor. A single rebel, his face covered by a bandanna came within view of the men on the _Seaview_. He walked to the bodies of Nelson and Sharkey and kicked them with his boot. Turning to the video monitor, he raised his gun and fired round after round at the view screen.

Even though the picture was gone, Crane continued to stare at the screen, trying hard to absorb what had just happened, what he had just seen. He slowly shook his head. This mission was supposed to be one of peace. And now his best friend was dead? His body left in the hands of the ones who had killed him? He struggled to tamp down the grief and anger he felt well up inside him

"Captain!" Kowalski shouted. "Radar's picked up two planes headed our way. They're on an attack course!"

"Mr. Morton, clear the decks and prepare to dive," Crane shouted, coming out of his daze.

All hands sprang to do the captain's bidding, for the time being forgetting the horror they had just witnessed.

"Sir, all hatches closed and we're ready to dive," Morton yelled.

"Dive!" Crane ordered. "Take us down to a depth of 100 feet and come to a heading of 290. Flank speed!"

The men hurried to set the course.

"Keep tracking those planes." Crane paced about the Control Room, nervously twisting the ring on his finger.

"Sir! "I have propellers coming fast on an intercept course off our starboard bow. Cruiser class! Range 4000 yards!"

"Evasive maneuvers!" Crane yelled. "Full left rudder. Dive to 200 feet!"

Crane reached for the microphone, grasping it tightly in his hands as he struggled for control. "Attention all hands. We are under attack by the rebel forces of the country of Qualan. Battle stations! All hands to duty stations! Stay alert!" He allowed himself a brief smile as he watched the crew leap to obey.

"Any contacts?" Crane asked as he leaned on the periscope island.

"Distant, sir. 5000 feet. Port stern. Moving…away from us."

"Away? Keep tracking. What about the planes?"

"No contact, sir.

"What the hell is going on?" Crane whispered to himself. He glanced down and realized he still held the mic firmly in his hands. Placing it back in its cradle, he glanced about the room at his crew... the admiral's crew. A wave of sadness washed over him as he envisioned Nelson's body lying amidst the rubble of what was supposedly an attempt at peace. Gripping the rail of the periscope island, he rested his head on his hands and closed his eyes, trying hard to shut out the memory of the admiral's bloody body lying in the dirt.

"They've moved off, sir. Wait…I've got propellers off starboard. Profiles as destroyer class."

No sooner were the words spoken than Sparks announced there was a call coming in from Admiral Starke.

Crane hurried to the radio shack to take the call.

"Admiral. This is Crane here. Do we have you to thank for getting those cruisers off our backs?"

"Yes, you do Crane. And I expect payment when you reach port. You can tell Harriman for me that I expect dinner at that little restaurant he keeps talking about. Anytime after you reach port will do," Starke said with a laugh.

The smile faded from Crane's face as he realized Starke didn't yet know of the admiral's fate.

"Sir... Admiral Nelson is...was..." Crane stopped, unable to bring himself to say the words.

"Nelson's what Crane?" he barked. "He isn't going to back out of a free dinner he owes me for saving all your skins is he?"

"Admiral... Admiral Nelson was still in the Capital district when the fighting broke out. We were in contact with him via the videophone when the rebels broke through their defensive fortifications." Crane stopped, his throat suddenly constricting. Maybe if he didn't say the words they wouldn't be true.

"Crane? What are you saying? Where's Nelson?"

Crane took a deep breath, closed his eyes and then said the words he dreaded saying.

"We saw him and another man from the _Seaview_ cut down by machine gun fire when the rebels broke through to where they were-to where the peace talks had been. He's dead, sir. At least we think he is. "

Crane's words were met by silence.

"I... I can't believe it," Starke's voice said softly. "I never thought anything could kill that old... We were roommates at Annapolis. He..." The radio went silent.

Crane stared at the floor as he awaited Starke's return.

The long silence was abruptly ended by the terse orders Crane was given for getting the _Seaview_ headed out of territorial waters. Nothing more was said between the two grieving officers and Crane, despite his objections, reluctantly gave the order to set sail.

"Chip, take the con will you. I'll be in my cabin. Call me if there are any more contacts." With that Crane strode quickly from the room, struggling to maintain control.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The tall, lean captain slowly walked the corridors towards his cabin, but stopped in front of the door marked "Admiral Nelson". Reaching out a trembling hand, he ran his fingers over the nameplate on the door then opened it and walked slowly inside.

On the admiral's desk were papers and reports he had been working on when he had left to go ashore. He ran his hands over the desk and sat down on the chair. Letting out a shuddering sigh, he placed his head in his hands and tried to blot out the sight of the Admiral lying unmoving and seemingly dead, on the debris filled floor.

How could this happen? How could everything go so wrong? And how could the United States government be so mistaken about the intentions of the Qualan rebels? It had all been a setup. But for what purpose? To kill a few Americans or to attempt to kill their own President? It just didn't make any sense. None of it did.

The picture of the admiral lying on the floor came back to him again. Slowly, he shook his head. His best friend was gone and there wasn't anything he could do. Except…hope perhaps. Hope that Nelson and Sharkey weren't dead. Perhaps Sharkey had been wrong about Nelson being dead. Maybe...

Crane slammed his fist onto the desk and jumped as a picture fell over. He picked it up and, with a frown, looked at the image of the admiral's sister. The photo had been taken recently and she'd given it to Nelson before they had sailed. It was unusual for the admral to have pictures on his desk, but this time, for some reason, he had apparently consented. Premonition? A last look at his only living relative before leaving for his death?

No! He had to stop thinking that way. What was it Nelson always said? There is always hope. Even where there doesn't seem to be.

Crane rose quickly and left the cabin, heading back to the Control Room, determined to let the crew see that he still had hope. After all, Nelson had come out of worse situations alive. Hadn't he?

Entering the Control Room, he felt the heavy air of sorrow descend upon him as he watched his men listlessly go about their assigned jobs.

"Listen up!" Crane barked. "Until we hear otherwise, we will work on the assumption that Admiral Nelson and Chief Sharkey are still alive. Sparks, get me Admiral Starke, now. I'll take it in my cabin."

With that, Crane strode quickly from the room and, amidst the open mouthed stares of the crew, headed to his cabin, this time not even glancing at the admiral's cabin door.

After taking the call, Crane returned to the Control Room.

"We have been authorized to remain off Qualan waters until we have verification of the fates of Admiral Nelson and Chief Sharkey," Crane said tightlipped.

"We have, however been denied permission to go ashore. Things are pretty confused right now and no one at the Pentagon seems to know exactly who is in control. Until we know for sure one way or another, we stay put."

"Mr. Morton, surface and put out lookouts. Tell them to be alert."

He watched, satisfied as his crew hopped to do his bidding and was pleased to notice the men seemed to have lost a bit of their sense of hopelessness. Hopefully, it was not misplaced optimism. The next few days would tell.

~O~

Time seemed to stand still for the crew of the _Seaview_. Waiting had never been easy, but awaiting word of the fate of the admiral and Sharkey was becoming down right painful.

Crane climbed to the conning tower and stood staring out across the water to the misty shore line of Qualan. What was going on there? Did anybody have anything figured out yet? Why was there no word? Had they found the admiral and Sharkey yet? Were they alive?

Frustrated, Crane slammed his fist onto the side of the tower and earned the startled glance of the lookout. Grimacing, partly from pain and partly from embarrassment, Crane descended the ladder and entered the Control Room.

"Sparks, are you sure the radio is in working order?" Crane asked his radioman.

"Yes sir. I just ran a complete diagnostic on the whole system. Everything is fine. Except there are no messages coming in." The frustration was evident in the man's words and tone.

Crane turned from the radio and started toward the plotting table. Before he could get there though, Sparks called out that there was a call coming in from Admiral Starke.

"I'll take it here, Sparks," Crane said as he walked to the view screen.

"Admiral. Is there any word?" Crane asked anxiously as the grim face of Admiral Starke came into view.

"Crane, are you in the Control Room?" Starke asked.

"Yes sir. Is there a problem?"

"Perhaps... this should be taken in private, Captain."

The hopeful look died on Crane's face. "Sir, any news you have of Admiral Nelson and Chief Sharkey concerns my whole crew."

"Very well, Captain. The news, I'm afraid is not good. A partial list of the dead and injured was just released by the rebels." Starke paused and wiped a hand over his weary face.

"Both Harriman and Sharkey are on the list of known dead I'm afraid," he said without looking up.

Crane and his crew stared at the admiral's face with unbelieving eyes.

The captain's mouth moved but no words came from it, his grief threatening to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Are they sure?"

"As sure as they can be about anything right now. The rebels apparently were familiar with Harriman and his work. It seems they expressed 'great regret at the loss of such a great man' to the President and apologized for their actions that had inadvertently caused the deaths of so many foreigners. Empty words as far as I am concerned," said the admiral, his voice rising in anger.

Regaining his composure, Starke looked up at the anguished face of Crane.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I really am. I... I know how close you two were. I wish I could have delivered better news. You and your crew have been ordered back to Santa Barbara where a memorial service is being planned. My condolences to you and your crew," Starke said abruptly.

Before Starke could terminate the transmission, Crane asked what was on the minds of the men.

"Sir, what about the... their... bodies? We aren't just leaving them there, are we?"

Starke rummaged through some papers on his desk as if looking for something. Finally, when he could stall no longer said in a barely controlled voice, "Yes, Captain. As a matter of fact we are. Most of the buildings in the Capital area were torched by the rebels, including the building the talks were held in. Not much is left of anything there. Finding bodies is...is not on the Qualan government's, or the rebel's, priority list right now. Getting the country back to some semblance of order is, or, as close to order as is possible when your country is torn apart by civil war."

"But…Admiral, we can't…"

Starke continued on, unmindful of Crane's interruption. "The injured, and there are many, have been released to hospitals and into the hands of their individual countries. However, no bodies have as yet been released and we have been told to not expect any in the near future." Starke's face began to show red as he tried to control his anger. "Word has also come that the government forces are in the process of taking back a substantial part of the country, however the Capital district is still a war zone. We have been requested by the Qualan government to stay out. Neither side seems to be in control right now. We've been informed that any bodies that can be identified will be returned to their country. If they can be identified." Starke's voice began to soften as he spoke. "Otherwise…"

"Sir, otherwise what?" Crane asked, dreading the answer he knew was coming.

"Otherwise, they will be buried in a…mass grave, Captain," he finished with tightly controlled emotion. "I'm sorry."

"Sir! We can't just leave them there! We can't leave them there to…Please! I can have a party of men ready and in the Capital within the hour."

"I…I'm sorry, Crane. You have no idea how sorry I am but we've been ordered to…to stand down. We're to take no other action here."

"Sir! Please…"

"I'm sorry, Crane," Starke said, a profound sadness filling his face. "Do you think this is what I want? If it were up to me I would gather my own men and…" Starke stopped abruptly before he said too much, his face red from the effort. "Harriman is…was my friend long before he ever met you. I…can't…," Starke lowered his head and Crane could see the effort it was taking to remain in control of his emotions in front of Crane.

"We…you have your orders. I expect you to carry them out. Harriman would expect you to carry them out. I'll meet you back in Santa Barbara."

Sir," Crane said, his voice barely audible. "The admiral's sister, Edith... has...anyone notified her yet?"

With a grimace Starke answered, "Yes. She was waiting at the Institute with Harriman's secretary, Angie Wood when the word came through. They were both upset to say the least. Edith will be ok, Crane. She _is_ Harriman's sister. Comes from good stock. Get your boat under way, Captain. Meet you in Santa Barbara in a few days." With that, Starke's face disappeared from the screen.

Crane stood for a few moments staring at the screen where only a moment before he had heard the words he had dreaded hearing.

"Mr. Morton, get us under way. Set course for home," the captain said quietly. With that he walked slowly from the room, knowing nothing would ever be the same again.

The next few days were tense, quiet affairs aboard the submarine. Each man was seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Routines continued. Watches were kept, but the life of the ship seemed to be missing. And it was. Two of their comrades were dead... murdered. There would be no graves to mark their final resting place. Only a plaque to say that they had ever been.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Several days later the submarine arrived at the Nelson Institute docks. The usual routines were followed and the crew made ready for shore leave without the customary exuberance and expectation. Their thoughts were focused on the memorial service they had been informed would take place the following morning.

"Chip, are all crew members ready for leave?" Crane asked his executive officer.

"Yes sir. All stations report they are on stand-by status. They're awaiting orders."

"Tell the men they are free to leave. A skeleton crew will remain aboard until the memorial service tomorrow morning. They will be relieved of their watch in time to be at the service. Do the men know where and when the service will be?" Crane asked wearily.

"Yes sir. They've been informed the service will be held on the front lawn of the Institute."

"Good. Let them go then, Chip."

Morton informed the men they were free to go and then turned back to his friend.

"When will you be heading out, Lee?"

"Soon. I want to check a few things before I leave," Crane said quietly, avoiding his friend's stare.

"You can't avoid seeing her you know," Chip said, suddenly pretending interest in a navigation chart in front of him.

"Who?" Crane asked absently.

"You know who. Edith. Word came two hours ago that she was in the admiral's office. Waiting."

Crane threw down the log book he had been pretending to read and stared at Morton.

"What am I supposed to say?" he asked, throwing his hands in the air. "Sorry, but your only living relative is dead and you can't even bury him?"

"How about 'I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?' Just be there. That's all she needs."

When Crane remained unmoving, Chip picked up his jacket and headed for the ladder. "I'll be at the Institute if you need me." And with that he was gone.

Chip was right. Crane knew he was right but something inside of him refused to give in and follow him to the Institute. One of the hardest things he had ever had to do was to tell a Navy wife her husband wasn't coming home again. Or a grieving mother her son was gone. It was one of the worst parts of the job. Now when he should have been able to avoid that duty, he was right back there.

What made him hesitate? Edith was not only the admiral's sister but his close friend. Why couldn't he bring himself to face her?

"Because I'm a coward!" the captain yelled to his deserted ship. "A coward for having left my best friend at the hands of those bloody murderers! There should have been something I could do! Something! Anything!" Crane swiped his hand across the plotting table and scattered charts and notes across the room. "I should have…should have tried to get him back…get his…" He fell to his knees and felt, not for the first time, hot tears roll down his cheeks.

The memory of the admiral's body lying amid the debris came back to him again as it had every day since the attack. The horror he felt at the memory was like a vise around his middle. He relived each moment as they had watched the screen and the attack knowing there was nothing they could do. No help they could offer. Just be silent witnesses to their deaths.

Crane raised his head and looked about at the now empty Control Room, the empty ship-his friend's creation-and remembered the admiral's last words, words of concern for his crew and boat.

There_hadn't_ been time to do anything other than watch. No time for rescue parties or help. No time for anything but watching. The admiral had known that, and had known what any attempt at rescue would mean to the men. He had accepted it, just as hemust now accept it. As much as he didn't want to believe it, he had to. And he had to find a way to come to terms with it. He had to find a way to deal with the grief he felt at his loss.

Wiping angrily at his eyes, Crane looked about the Control Room once more and reached for his jacket. Nodding his head in final acceptance, he climbed the ladder to the conning tower and looked about at the activity. Seamen scurried about, loading and unloading while guards stood their watches. Crane bowed his head for a moment, then walked across the gang plank and began to walk.

A few minutes later he found himself in the Institute itself and outside the admiral's office, not quite sure how he had gotten there. He hesitated a moment then opened the outer door. Angie Wood, Nelson's secretary, sat at her desk, her head propped on her hands and her eyes red from crying. She looked up, and then jumped to her feet.

"Lee! Oh Lee. I'm so glad to see you!" she said as she rushed to him.

He reached out and grabbed her in a tight hug and he felt her hot tears on his cheek, her sobs shaking her. The two were content for a moment to share their grief with each other.

"I'm sorry," she said softly as if it were her fault. "I know how hard..." she broke away from him and turned to face the row of windows that lined the outer office walls, her shoulders shaking.

Crane walked to her and put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. She reached up, grabbed one and grasped it. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier. I..."

"It's all right, Lee. I understand. We all needed some time to ourselves," Angie said as she turned back to face him, her eyes still wet with tears. "I just can't believe he's really gone. It just doesn't seem possible. He…I'm never going to see him again. Am I?"

Forcing his voice to be steady, he shook his head. "No. We're…we're not. He's…"

"Right. Well, we just have to get through it then, don't we? And hope the pain eases. Well…uh…Edith…Edith is in his office," she said quietly, nodding towards the office door. "Chip is with her. He's been there for awhile."

Crane turned towards the door and stared at it for a moment.

"She won't bite you," Angie said with a half-hearted attempt at a laugh. "She just needs to see you, Lee."

"I know. I know. I just..." he left the sentence unfinished.

"You just don't know what to say, right?"

"What_ do _I say?" he said turning to her, anger on his face. "Sorry, but I left your brother behind? Sorry, but I was only following orders? Sounds rather hollow, don't you think?" he asked, his voice rising.

"All she needs is to see you. She doesn't want explanations or excuses. She just wants to see her brother's best friend... you Lee." Angie reached out a hand and laid it on his arm. "Maybe so she can share a bit of her grief. She hasn't cried since word came that the admiral was…was gone. It's as if she's holding it all in. Not willing to let it out. Maybe she doesn't believe it. I don't know. I've been with her almost every minute since we first heard the reports."

"You're right. I know you're right. I'm being a coward," he said quietly as he put his hand on top of hers and squeezed.

"No, Lee. You're being a sensitive human being who doesn't want to face the truth any more than the rest of us," she said, her voice breaking slightly.

Reaching a shaking hand out, Crane gently wiped the tears from Angie's cheeks, straightened his jacket and tie and with a small smile at her, walked towards the office door. He knocked softly and opened the door.

Chip was sitting on the admiral's desk watching Edith as she stood in front of the window that faced the docks. At the sound of his knock, she turned and put a hand to her mouth.

"Lee. I...I...Oh Lee. I can't believe it. This time he's really gone, isn't he?" she asked softly as she walked across the room to him.

Crane opened his arms and Edith fell into them. He held her tightly and nodded as Chip rose from his seat and left the room.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier. I... I just..." he struggled for the right words.

"You just couldn't bear to face me. Right?" she asked as she pulled from his embrace. She looked him straight in the eye and smiled. "I understand you know. You feel guilty. Helpless. The same way Harry always did when he had to inform someone of their loved one's death. You aren't any different you know," she said, walking across the room to her brother's desk. She fingered the papers lying there and looked up.

"I don't blame you or the President or even the rebels. It happened. Nothing is going to change that. Is it?"

Crane turned to face her. "No. Nothing's going to change that."

She nodded, then sat down at the desk. "Well. The memorial is set for tomorrow morning. I didn't let them plan anything too elaborate. I know Harry would have hated that," she said softly as she rubbed her hands over the desk's finish. "He never wanted to be buried in Arlington either. I guess that isn't something I need to worry about now... now that..." Edith waved her hand in the air and covered her mouth with it. "I'm sorry. I don't seem to be able to think straight right now."

Lee walked behind the desk and sat on the edge. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face. "You're doing just fine. Perhaps a little too fine. Angie says you haven't even allowed yourself to cry yet. Don't you think...?"

"I think I know myself better than you do, Captain," she interrupted, rising from the chair. "I will grieve when I feel I can do so without...without..."

"Without losing control?" Crane said as he reached for her hand.

Edith stopped and looked at him. She shook her head slowly and sat down again. "I don't know. Maybe. I can't seem to think beyond tomorrow. Beyond all those people and the words of condolences and everyone telling me 'what a great loss it is'. As if I don't already know that. I don't know if I can endure it, Lee."

"You can. Because I'll be there and Angie will be there and Chip. The whole crew will be there. You can get through it because we'll get through it together." Crane stroked her cheek with one finger and Edith grabbed on to it as if it were a lifeline. She looked up at him with glistening eyes. "Stay here with me for a little while. Just for a little while, Lee." With that the tears she had held back came forth like a tidal wave, washing over her again and again. And through each wave, Lee held on to her to steady her.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The memorial the next day was a rather short affair considering the stature of the man they were memorializing. The _Seaview's_ crew, researchers and employees from the Institute gathered on the lawn joining several representatives from the Armed Forces, a few members of Congress and the President himself, whom Harry had considered a friend. Speeches were made, eulogies given and through it all Edith, Lee and the others seemed to come through somehow. The missing man formation was flown over the proceedings by Navy jets and it was hard to find a dry eye anywhere. The admiration and respect accorded Admiral Harriman Nelson was evident. The world had lost a great man and the world mourned, silently and in its own way.

The next few weeks crawled by at a snail's pace. The admiral's will was read, putting control of the Institute jointly into the hands of Edith Nelson, Captain Lee Crane and Commander Chip Morton and asking Admiral Jiggs Starke to temporarily be advisor to the three. The two young officers were rendered speechless by the admiral's bequest. Repairs were made to the _Seaview _and she was made ready for sailing. The only problem was, she seemed to have no captain and no set course.

~O~

"Crane, what is the meaning of this?" Admiral Starke bellowed, waving a piece of paper in the air two weeks after Nelson's will was read.

"I think it should be clear, sir. It's my resignation," Crane said without looking him in the eye. "I wasn't sure who to submit it to in view of the fact that the admiral…the admiral isn't..."

"Accept it!" Starke yelled. "You know darn well he would never have accepted it! And neither will I!"

Starke rose from his chair and circled around to the front of the desk and seated himself once more on the edge.

"Crane, look," he said in a quieter tone. "I know how you're feeling. We all are feeling... uncertain. Angry even. But we still do our jobs. This resignation is unacceptable. Harriman wanted you to continue on with his legacy. How can you turn your back on what he wanted?"

"With all due respect sir, it doesn't matter whether you accept it or not. I resign my command of the _Seaview_ effective immediately. I would suggest Commander Morton be given command. He deserves it." As he said the words, he felt as though a knife was being twisted in his gut and he felt guilt engulf him.

"Whether he deserves it or not doesn't matter. Nelson put _you_ in charge of his boat. He wanted you and Morton to take his place." Starke got up and walked to the window that overlooked the harbor. He crossed his arms behind him and rocked on his heels, staring out over the port.

"I understand how you feel, Lee. Believe me, I do. It's hard to accept the fact that he isn't going to come rushing through that door ever again all excited about some new find or some new project. However, we owe it to him…to the Institute...to Edith…to continue on. And that's what I intend to do," he said turning back to give Crane a hard stare. "Nelson trusted you. He…he cared a great deal about you. How can you just turn away? You know he wouldn't want that."

Pain tore through Crane as he listened to Starke's words. "Sir, I would never do anything to hurt the Institute or Edith or the admiral. But I can't sail on _Seaview_ again. And I can't be at the Institute. At least not right now. It's…it's too hard to be here knowing that he...I…I'm sorry. I just can't."

Starke stared at the young captain, knowing the anguish he was feeling at the loss of his friend and mentor. He felt the same pain. Harry had been like a brother to him and his death had hit him a lot harder than he had expected. He watched the young man whose head hung down, his eyes staring without blinking at the carpet. Shadows marked his face and it was obvious sleep had been elusive to the young man.

"All right, Crane. Have it your way. I will put Morton in _temporary_ command of the _Seaview_. Give it some time. Think it over. Allow the wounds to heal. Then return, and either take command back, or give it up. Agreed?"

With a short nod and a stab of remorse, he said, "Agreed."

The captain turned and headed for the door. Before he could reach it though, the admiral's voice stopped him.

"Crane, do you know how Harriman really felt about you?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Without turning around, Crane closed his eyes against the pain he felt flow through him and answered softly, "Yes sir, I do. It was the same way I felt about him." With that the tall, dark haired captain opened the door and strode from the office.

~O~ Three Months Later~O~

The dingy bar was filled with the late Friday evening crowd. Smoke hung over the room like a heavy fog and the noise had reached almost unbearable levels. One table, set back in the corner of the hazy room was occupied by a dark haired, leather-jacketed man. His companion was a blonde haired woman who was on the verge of boredom.

"Lee, when are you taking me sailing?" she pouted.

"Soon baby. Soon," he said distractedly as he slowly swirled the amber liquid in his glass and stared at it as if it were the most important thing in the world. "We'll go soon. Maybe in a few days."

"You said that yesterday. And the day before that. I get the feeling you're not really here. In fact, you never seem to be "here" at all," she said, her voice rising an octave.

"Look, Julie, I..."

"The name, Mr. Hot Shot Submarine Captain, is Cindy! And I think we have sailed this ship as far as it is going!" With that she rose and stalked from the bar.

Crane sighed as he stared after her. He hadn't been fair to her or the other women he had met in the last weeks of traveling around. Weeks? It had been months now-three months, two weeks and three days.

He had traveled around the country visiting every old friend, cousin and acquaintance he could think of the past few months. Having run out of places to go he had returned to Santa Barbara a few days ago. The town was the same. He wasn't. An emptiness seemed to fill him. Having thought long and hard, he had decided to relinquish his command of the _Seaview_. Where he once felt excitement at the prospect of a new cruise, a new mission, a new discovery, he now only felt distaste. The thought of walking through his beloved boat knowing the admiral wouldn't be there twisted his insides unbearably. He'd decided to stay on, at least for now, at the Institute to help Edith but he wasn't sure how long he was going to be able to go there every day knowing the one man he had admired the most in the world was dead, probably buried in some unmarked grave with other's whose countries had abandoned them.

Pain tearing at him again, he picked up his drink and raised it to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone come through the doors of the run down, shadowy bar and frowned as he saw who it was.

The fair-haired haired newcomer scanned the room quickly, then, recognizing his quarry, advanced towards Crane's table.

"Lee. It's been a while. How are you?" Chip Morton asked, seating himself uninvited at the table.

"Fine Chip. Just fine. And you? The crew?"

Chip dropped his eyes to the pock-marked table. "Fine Lee. So's the Institute. And Edith," he said finally raising his eyes to search his friend's face. "You look like hell."

"Don't pull any punches, Chip. Tell me what you really think," he said sarcastically.

After a prolonged silence, Crane looked up, anger in his eyes. "How did you find me?"

"I have my ways," Morton said with a slight smile.

Lee looked up into his friend's eyes and saw that the past months hadn't taken the edge of grief from Chip's face any more than it had taken it from his own. Circles under his eyes told him that sleep was not Chip's friend any more than it was his.

"So who saw me and reported back to you?"

Sighing, Morton drummed his fingers on the table. "Riley. He said he saw you here."

"And you couldn't wait to come find me? Couldn't wait to try to talk me into coming back?"

"No. Actually I came with a message from Admiral Starke. He heard you were back and wants to see you. When Riley said he had seen you here, I thought I would save him the job of tracking you down. He wants to see you tomorrow morning 0900. He said it was urgent."

"He did. Well, I want to see him too. I hope you like being the _Seaview's_ captain, Chip because I'm recommending you be made permanent captain."

Chip stared at his friend in astonishment. "You're giving up command permanently?" he asked dumbfounded.

"Yes."

"How can you just dismiss what the admiral wanted? You know how he felt about you! He trusted you! To turn your back on…!"

"That's enough, Mr. Morton! You can just stop. I don't want to hear it. I can't be there. I can't be what he wanted. Not when he…I…I can't do it."

The silence between the two men went on for a few more minutes until Crane couldn't take it. He looked up and saw his friend staring at him, something undefined in his eyes.

Deciding he didn't want to know what the look was, he rose, put down some bills on the table and said softly, "I guess I'd better go see what is so important Starke had to send you all the way down here to fetch me."

Placing a hand on Chip's shoulder for a second, he squeezed and walked off, hoping Chip would try to understand what he felt and what he wanted. And that he wouldn't judge him too harshly. He was doing a very good job of that on his own.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

At 0900 the next day, Crane knocked on the mahogany door to Admiral Jiggs Starke's office and waited.

"Come in!" barked a voice from within.

Crane opened the door and walked into the office where only a few months ago he had tried to relinquish command of the ship he had loved commanding. Now he was back to make it permanent.

"Sir. I heard you wanted to see me." He stood at attention while Starke looked through some photographs on his desk, slowly shaking his head. Then suddenly remembering he wasn't alone, looked up.

"Crane. I'm sorry I didn't hear you come in. I...uh...I have something to show you," he said rising from his chair and coming towards Crane, who still stood at attention.

"Oh. At ease, Captain. Sorry. I seem to be at a loss right now."

"Sir, if it is all right with you I need to say something first. I've come to a decision about my command. I've decided to..."

"Please, Crane. Listen to what I have to say first. Ok? Then you may talk. Please, sit." He indicated a chair in front of the desk. "I have something here I want you to see before you decide to give up your command of the _Seaview_. Yes. Don't look so surprised. I know what your decision is. Or should I say was."

Starke took a seat on the edge of the desk and handed a packet of photos to Crane.

"I want you to look at these photos. They were taken by an operative we have working within the Qualan rebel force. They were taken approximately two months ago and recently smuggled out of the country by forces loyal to the Qualan President. Look them over carefully before you decide what you want to do."

"Sir, looking at some pictures taken by a CIA or ONI operative isn't going to change my mind about my future," Crane said beginning to rise from his chair.

"Well I disagree, so sit and look at them."

Looking through the pictures quickly, Crane frowned impatiently.

"I don't see how a bunch of photos of Qualan refugees and..." Crane stopped in mid sentence and stared at one particular photograph with an incredulous look then looked at the next and the next with increasing excitement. He slowly raised his eyes to Admiral Starke's and saw a hint of a smile begin to play around the edges.

"Admiral... I... I don't believe it. I...it's... are these for real?" he finally asked.

"We believe them to be, yes. However, they were taken two months ago. Whether they're still alive or not...?"

Crane looked down at the pictures in his hands and slowly shook his head. Staring back at him was the face of Admiral Nelson. Or what appeared to be Nelson. The picture was grainy and the face was gaunt, but the features were Nelson's. The other two pictures were of someone resembling Sharkey, and Nelson and Sharkey together seated on the ground.

"Our operative came upon a camp set in the thickest part of the jungle on the Qualan mainland," Starke continued. "He thought the man in question was Nelson but wasn't sure. If you look at some of the other pictures there, you will notice a few other familiar faces." Starke sorted through the pictures and threw several down on the desk.

"Augustus MacGregor, British General in charge of Nuclear Development, Colonel Jean De Mond, in charge of his country's weapons research lab and General Ivan Kazov in charge of Russian missile development. All brilliant men and all duped into believing that the rebel forces of Qualan had somehow developed a weapon of fierce destructive power. And all there at the request of the Qualan government to analyze the threat from the rebel forces." Starke went back to his desk and sat down. "And all on the known dead list issued by the rebels. What they want with Nelson and the others, I suppose, is easy to guess," Starke resumed.

"Information," Crane said slowly.

"Yes, but what kind? The only explanation we can come up with is they either want help developing some kind of new weapon or they want them to tell the location of our underwater missile sites."

"Which they will never give them. The help or the sites." Crane rose from his chair and walked to the window. "How do we get them out of there?"

"We, Captain? I thought you were resigning?"

Crane turned away from the window and walked to Starke's desk. Placing his hands on the desk he said, "Let's not play games, Admiral. You know there's no way I would resign knowing that he's possibly still alive and in trouble. You knew that before I even got here. Now...do you have a plan for getting them out of there?"

"As a matter of fact, Captain, I do. Or at least the CIA does. I assume you and your crew would like to be instrumental in any rescue attempt?"

Crane rose to his full height and stared down at the admiral. "Try and stop us, Admiral. You will have a full mutiny on your hands. And there will be no "attempt". We _will_ get them out."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Rain fell from the black sky in torrents and humidity hung in the air like a suffocating blanket. The jungle surrounding the compound was dense, dark and filled with the night sounds of jungle creatures.

A man dressed in what once had been khakis, walked quickly across an open area of the encampment, avoiding the worst of the muddy puddles that had formed and stopped outside a long, narrow building. In his hands he carried two bowls containing a whitish mixture. Before entering the building, he dumped the contents of the one bowl into the other and, tossing aside the empty bowl, went inside.

The interior of the building was dark and oppressive with two rows of bunks down either side of the structure. The man made his way to one bunk where an older man lay tossing lightly in his sleep.

Leaning down, he placed a hand on the sleeping man's forehead and swore softly. The fever was back. He shook his head in dismay. Kneeling beside the bunk, he reached out a hand and gently shook the other man.

"Admiral? Admiral? It's me, Sharkey. You awake, sir?" he called softly. "I brought you something to eat. They're being generous today, sir. Extra portions. I even think I saw a few pieces of meat. At least, I think it's meat," he said as the admiral slowly woke up.

Nelson turned to look at Sharkey hovering over him then down at the offered bowl. Smiling slightly, he looked back up into Sharkey's face.

"Extra portions, eh? When have you ever known our "hosts" to provide extra portions? And just where, may I ask, is yours?"

"Mine, sir? I ate already. With the others," he said gesturing out the door.

"Hmmm. Really, Francis, you don't expect me to believe that, do you?" Nelson asked as he slowly sat up. Grimacing in pain he held the bowl out to the chief. "Take some."

"Sir, I told you, I already ate."

"Yes, I know what you said. I appreciate the gesture, but giving me your food is not something I will accept. Now eat. That's an order."

Grudgingly, Sharkey reached for some of the food. Knowing how weak the admiral was, he thought giving him extra food might help. He should have known he wouldn't get away with it.

The past four months had been sheer hell. After the attack, he had awakened alone in a dark room that smelled of garbage and death with the biggest headache he could ever remember having. The bullet that had hit him in the head had, thankfully, only grazed him. Still it had taken three days of almost non-existent care before he could even attempt to sit up. After that, the days began to run together. His constant questions of where he was and where the admiral was were met with silence or a slap.

Until one day he awoke to find three men in the room with him. They bound and gagged him, put a cloth sack over his head, dragged him down some steps and threw him into the back of a truck.

The drive seemed to take forever over roads so rutted they may not have been roads at all. Eventually he had arrived at the camp set in the jungle and was put into a small room where he was kept for another few days and interrogated.

When he had finally been let out, he had found himself in a prison camp. There were a few inmates sequestered with him. Most were Qualanese, but there were some Europeans and a few Americans. A few of them Sharkey recognized as having been at the peace talks with the admiral and himself.

He had begun searching through the buildings in the hope that the admiral had somehow survived the attack as he had. But he met with failure. Assuming the admiral was dead and that he was also presumed dead, he had begun to give up hope.

Approximately two weeks after he had arrived at the camp, a truck had arrived. One man, whom he recognized as a high ranking British General named MacGregor, got out of the truck slowly. Sharkey remembered him from the "peace talks" as a friend of Admiral Nelson's.

Sharkey watched as MacGregor blinked in the bright sunlight then turned back to the truck to help someone else.

The man that got out was gaunt and needed help getting down from the truck. With a shock, Sharkey recognized the man with MacGregor was Admiral Nelson. He looked as though he had aged ten years. Blood stains were evident on his uniform shirt-one on his chest on the right and one low on his side on the left-and he leaned heavily on MacGregor as he walked from the truck. His left leg was heavily bandaged and he was obviously in a great deal of pain. Coming out of his stupor, Sharkey started towards the pair only to be barred by the guards.

The two prisoners were led into a building everyone in the camp had taken to calling the "hole". Every one of them had been in that building at one time or another: it was the place where interrogations took place.

Sharkey turned from the scene with a sick feeling in his stomach. He knew what was in store for the two men and he clenched his hands in anger at his impotence.

Four hours later, the admiral and MacGregor were dragged unconscious into the building occupied by Sharkey and most of the non-Qualanese prisoners. Sharkey and the others had assumed a routine when one of them returned from "the hole" and they all fell into it now, doing all they could to help the newest prisoners.

It had been ten hours until the admiral had regained consciousness. It was with surprise and delight that Nelson found Sharkey leaning over his cot.

That had been over three months ago

"Where did you go?" Nelson asked, breaking the train of thought the chief had taken.

Looking at the admiral with a startled expression, Sharkey put on a smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, just pondering the past few months is all."

"That's all? I'd say that was more than enough for one night," Nelson said with a short laugh as he shifted his position on the cot. He reached a hand down and rubbed his injured leg gently.

"I wish there was something I could do for that," Sharkey said as he gestured towards the leg.

Nelson's other injuries had healed slowly but the leg refused to mend, perhaps due to the constant pounding the guards gave it when Nelson was a tad too slow in obeying.

"It will heal. Once we're out of here," Nelson said as he tried to rise from the bunk.

"You don't really think anyone is going to rescue us do you?" Sharkey asked as he reached down to help the admiral.

"Yes. Yes, I do. I have to believe that," he said grimacing at the pain in his leg. "Perhaps we'll be rescued. Perhaps we'll have to make our own escape. But one way or another I believe we will get out of here," he said as he limped across the room and looked out the door at the misty compound.

"Where is everyone anyway?" Nelson asked, changing the subject.

Sharkey walked across the room to stand behind the Admiral.

"They're... at the cemetery," Sharkey said softly.

Nelson's hands clenched on the door frame.

"Who?" he asked softly.

Sharkey hesitated a moment. "MacGregor."

Nelson sagged against the door frame as he absorbed the news.

"How?" he asked.

"He was put in the "oven" yesterday while you were being interrogated by Malek. He was in there most of the day. When they finally released him last night, he was almost dead. We brought him back here but he died early this morning. I'm sorry, sir. I know he was...was a friend."

Nelson slammed his hand into the door frame and scanned the compound area until his eyes came upon what the other prisoners had taken to calling the oven. It was a small box, approximately six feet by six feet with barely enough head room to sit up in. It was topped and encased in metal which gathered the hot, oppressive heat of the jungle and magnified it. Anyone incurring the camp commander Malek's wrath ended up there. How long one stayed depended upon the degree of Malek's anger. Apparently, MacGregor had enraged him.

Slowly turning his eyes from the oven, Nelson's eyes narrowed in anger as he looked up on the commander's porch. Commander Malek stood there staring back at him with a smug smile. With a little salute to Nelson, he laughed and disappeared back inside his quarters.

"If I only had a knife," muttered Nelson as he turned away from the doorway and limped back into the dark room.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

In another part of the Qualan jungle, not far from the coast, a group of five men stood crouched in a dense thicket of vines and vegetation.

"Where are they," Crane muttered. "They should have been here by now," he said as he checked his watch for the third time in the past minute.

"They'll be here, sir. They're probably just being careful," Kowalski said.

"You're right, I know. It's just... after all this time...I just want to get going. Find them. And make them pay."

Suddenly, a slight sound broke the stillness of the night. The men of the _Seaview_ turned at the sound and raised their rifles in the direction of the noise.

"Hey! Easy there! We're friends. Put those things down," a voice said from the darkness.

"Come out in the open where we can see you," Crane called.

Two men dressed in ragged rebel rags came into the open. Both men were dark-skinned and appeared to be natives. Morton and Kowalski raised their rifles to cover the men.

"Easy man. We're friends," the leader said, raising his hands in front of him.

"You have a code name?" asked Crane.

"You really take this spy stuff seriously don't you?"

When he received no reply but a stony stare, the leader shrugged his shoulders and in a bored way said, "Chicago."

Kowalski and Morton lowered his rifles at the captain's impatient wave.

"I'm Captain Lee Crane of the _Seaview_. These are my men Commander Morton, Seamen Kowalski, Patterson and Barton.

"I know who you are, Captain. I really don't need a rundown of the names in your party. My name is Lombok. This is Trais," he said gesturing to his companion and moved off the trail and back into the shadows.

"We have some work to do and I suggest we get to it. We have a long road ahead of us and not much time to do it in. How much do you know?"

"Not much. Just that our men were captured at the peace talks and are being held somewhere on the mainland. We don't even know if they're still alive. Do you have any information on them? Are they alive?" Crane asked anxiously.

"Peace talks," Lombok said derisively. "They weren't peace talks, Captain. They were a diversionary tactic. A diversion that apparently worked. They got what they wanted."

"Which was?"

"Some of the best military and scientific minds in the world. All to further their cause."

"Which is?"

"To take control of the Qualan mainland. At whatever price. And from there to become a world power. All through intimidation."

"You never answered the captain's question," Morton spoke up for the first time.

Lombok looked away for a moment, then looked back at the captain.

"Are they alive? I don't know. The information I have been able to glean from others hasn't been encouraging. Malek is leaning pretty heavily on his guests. Several of the prisoners there have been killed already."

"Malek?" Crane asked. "Who is he?"

Lombok gave a little snort of derision. "The Devil, Captain. Malek is one of the most evil people you will ever hope _not_ to meet. He is also in charge of the interrogations at the camp. Pity your people, Captain. Pity them, and hope they can hold out. If they are still alive," he said as he moved off down the trail.

Clenching his teeth in anger, Crane and the others followed him down the trail.

They followed the trail for a few minutes, then went off the track and walked through the jungle for about an hour before Lombok called a halt.

"We'll stop here. We should be safe," Lombok said as he sat down on the ground. "Sit gentlemen. We have to discuss our plans. Trais, scout around. Make sure we are alone."

As he moved off to do Lombok's bidding, Crane and the others sat.

"He doesn't talk much, does he?" Morton asked looking off into the jungle after Trais.

"Trais? He can't talk. He doesn't have a tongue. Malek took care of that. That's the only reason he is here. He wants revenge. He has bided his time playing the part of the loyal rebel to get close enough to Malek to make him pay."

"He'll have to stand in line," Kowalski said.

Lombok gave a short laugh then proceeded to lay out a map of the area.

"We are here," he said pointing to an area near the coast. "Your men and the encampment are here." He pointed to an area about 20 miles inland. "It is, conservatively, a two or three day walk, provided we run into no patrols or any other obstacles."

"Why so long for a 20 mile walk?" Morton asked.

"Have you ever walked through thick jungle, Commander? It isn't easy."

"Aren't there any roads?" Patterson asked.

"Of a sort, yes. However we want to have the element of surprise on our side. Any activity on the road will be a tip-off to our presence. Once we get your people, we will "borrow" a truck or two from the rebels and take your men out that way, as well as any of the others we can get out."

"Any idea how many are in that camp?" Crane asked.

With a frown Lombok looked up and said, "Not many. The numbers from what I understand have been dropping. Let's just say the cemetery is filling up."

Crane looked away, his face lined with worry. "Do you think there is something up? Some reason he's pushing so hard?"

"I have no idea. I haven't heard of any plans relating to the prisoners. Just that he is determined to get the answers he wants from them or..." Lombok trailed off.

"Or he kills them, right?" Crane said his voice rising in anger.

"I am afraid that is so, Captain. Slowly. However, since the camp is still there and there are still prisoners there, we can assume that not all of them have been cooperating with the good commander."

"Now, let me tell you my plan for getting your people out," Lombok said scanning his map.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Two days later, the sun rose on the prison camp, increasing the humidity level ten fold. Prisoners moved about the encampment slowly, dreading the start of another day. In the outermost building from the gate, Sharkey stood in the entrance and stared out at what passed for activity. Fewer and fewer men were answering the call for breakfast every morning and the number of crude handmade crosses in the cemetery was increasing.

"Looks like they're about ready to give the call, Admiral," Sharkey said as he turned back into the building.

"Right," Nelson said as he rose awkwardly from the bunk. "Doesn't pay to keep our friends waiting does it?"

"No sir, I suppose not," Sharkey said as he went through the door to stand in the stifling sun. "Completion on the road was finished last week. I guess our next project for our captors is construction of an airfield judging by the dimensions I've seen. Are you sure you're up to this, sir?" Sharkey looked back as the admiral sagged against the doorway, his face pale and haggard and ran a hand over his eyes. "That fever of yours isn't getting any better."

"Does it matter if I'm up to it or not? You know Malek likes his prisoners on the work lines when not in his illustrious presence," Nelson murmured as he moved through the door to stand beside his friend, a slight shiver coursing through him.

Sharkey had been one of the prisoners, along with several Marines and Qualanese from the talks that had been allowed to live simply because of their ability at construction. Although he hadn't been questioned after the initial interrogation, he did endure abuse at the hands of the guards. All prisoners were expected to go out with the work parties as long as they were able. Those excluded were those being "questioned" that day and anyone that didn't have the strength. Those in the latter category were usually ones that had been in the former category previously.

"Well, Chief I..."

"Ah, Admiral Nelson. You weren't by any chance heading out for a day in our hot sun, now were you? Really, I think a day spent indoors...talking... would be much more beneficial."

Nelson tensed, then turned at the sound of Malek's voice. Two guards stood beside him, their guns aimed at Nelson and Sharkey.

"Actually Commander, I don't feel much like talking. I thought a nice stroll in this lizard infested jungle of yours would be much more to my liking," Nelson said as he stared at the man with hatred in his eyes.

"But, I disagree. You may have noticed there seems to be a lack of... conversationalists here of late," he said gesturing about the compound. "I thought perhaps you and I might continue that talk we started a few days ago. Or," he continued in a menacing tone of voice as he stepped closer to Nelson, "Perhaps we can expound on certain information I was given a few days ago by a certain friend of yours."

"Oh, don't look so shocked, Admiral. It happens. Even the best and strongest will eventually give in. Unfortunately, the information came too late to save his life."

Nelson flinched as he listened to Malek, wondering who had talked and what they had said.

"You want to know who? Yes? Well, let's just say DeMond was not as strong as he thought. Nor are you my dear Admiral Nelson. Nor are you. Although I am much more interested in American technology and secrets I will accept DeMond's French ones. For the time being," he added with a cruel smile.

"Now, Chief, I think the others are waiting for you. Clear lots of jungle today, my friend. We will have need for that airfield soon."

With that, Malek turned away and began to head towards his "office".

"Admiral, I..." Sharkey began, his face suffused with anger.

"Coming, Admiral?" Malek said as he turned back to the two men. "Or must I show you once again how useless it is to resist?"

Nelson gave Sharkey a pat on the back as he walked by him and followed Malek. The guards gave Sharkey a long look, waiting for him to object, then followed their commander.

Sharkey fell in with the other prisoners and headed for the gate. He turned back once more and watched as the admiral disappeared inside the building with Malek and the guards.

"Hang on, Admiral. Just hang on," he muttered as he walked on to the work site.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Sweat ran down Sharkey's face and dripped onto his shirt as he tried to clear brush and vines from what would pass for a runway in a few weeks. Weeks? Did they have that long? Could any of them hold out for a few more weeks? Did anybody know about this place? That they were here?

"It sure doesn't seem likely," he whispered as he pulled at an especially stubborn vine.

"_Diam!"_ shouted one of the guards. "_Diam!"_

"Yeah, yeah. Quiet, I know. No talking. Sure, sure," Sharkey said as he resumed his work. What was happening back at the compound? Was the admiral all right? How much longer could he hold out? There had been something about Malek today, he thought absently. Something akin to... desperation. As if they had all run out of time. Was something up?

At that moment, something hit Sharkey squarely in the back. Startled, he stood up and glanced behind him but saw nothing. Shrugging, he went back to work but was soon surprised when he felt something hit him again. Turning once more he gazed into the jungle and nearly shouted with joy when he recognized the face of Captain Crane staring back at him with a big smile on his face.

"Cap..," he began but quickly stopped when he drew the attention of a passing guard. He resumed his work but closer this time to where the captain lay concealed.

Captain," he whispered. "I can't believe it! Is it really you?"

"That it is Chief. Where's the admiral? Is he..."

"He's alive, sir. At least he was when I left this morning. They took him in for more interrogation. I don't know how much more he can take, sir. He's pretty weak."

Crane's face fell when he heard the news. At least he was alive. That was more than they'd had a few weeks ago.

"How did you both survive?" Crane asked. "We thought we saw you both shot down."

"We were, sir," Sharkey answered as he continued to clear vines from the field. "It is a long story. Suffice it to say we were both a long time in recovering. The admiral still isn't recovered. One of the bullets hit him in the leg and it refuses to heal. That coupled with the "chat" sessions Malek inflicts on him... we've got to get him out of here!" Sharkey's voice began to rise, earning him a long stare from one of the guards.

"Chief, we have a plan. But we can't implement it until later tonight. Can you hold out until then?"

"I sure can, sir. Just knowing someone knows about us is enough to keep me going. But I'm worried about the admiral. I'm afraid Malek is tired of waiting for answers he knows aren't coming. I'm afraid of what he will do. He..."

At that moment the guard showing interest in the chief's apparently one-sided conversation began to walk towards him. He motioned him away from the edge of the jungle and pointed to a spot closer to the other prisoners.

"_Sini!"_ he yelled.

"I'm coming," Sharkey said as he moved towards the spot the guard pointed to. He began working the spot and glanced back at the place where the captain had been only an instant before. He saw no sign of him. Sighing, he began to tug at the ever present vines and wished for nightfall.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Five long hours later, Sharkey dragged himself into the compound with the others. Exhausted, most went directly to their bunks to rest. Sharkey walked slowly to the barracks that had become his home, glancing occasionally at Malek's building. He hoped the admiral had been able to hold out.

Suddenly, a guard stopped Sharkey in his tracks. "Stop. Come this way," the guard said.

Surprised the guard was speaking in English, Sharkey hesitated a moment before following him to the back of one of the barracks.

The guard looked around carefully before he spoke again. "My name is Lombok. I'm working with the CIA. I've come with Crane and the others to get you out of here. Where is Nelson?"

Sharkey stared at the man before him for a moment. The man's sun darkened skin, ragtag uniform and semi-automatic rifle all screamed rebel to the Chief. "You're CIA? Sure you are. And I'm FBI. Want to trade more initials?"

"Chief, I have no time for jokes. If you want to get out of here, you will listen to me closely."

"You speak pretty good English. Where did you learn?"

Sighing, Lombok glanced about anxiously. "I graduated from UCLA 10 years ago, signed on with the CIA and became an operative. Now can we get to something important?"

"Sorry. I guess if you know the Skipper…well I've gotten so's I don't trust no one any more. Except the admiral."

"And he is...where Chief?"

"I don't know. I haven't had time to check the barracks yet. If he isn't there... then Malek must still have him." Sharkey clenched his hands in anger.

"Go find out then. We need to get this plan in motion."

Sharkey walked to the front of the building and entered the ramshackle building. A short time later he came out and headed to the rear of the building, his face red with anger.

"Malek put him in the oven," he spat out. "That lousy..." Sharkey began walking towards the commander's office but was restrained by Lombok.

"Not now, Chief. Malek will get his, but it must wait. How do you know Nelson is in this oven?"

"One of the other men, a Marine named Sanders, couldn't make it today. He said he saw them drag the admiral to the oven around noontime. Holy... he's been in there almost six hours! We gotta get him out!" Sharkey started towards the box the men called the oven and was promptly restrained by Lombok. He looked about him to see if they had attracted any attention.

"Not now! I will go. Tell me what this oven is and where it is."

Sharkey explained the situation to Lombok.

"All right. You go about your business as if nothing happened. Wait for the signal. When the firing starts, head for the gate. There will be a truck there. Herd everyone you can into the truck and wait for us. Understand?"

"I understand. But what about the admiral? We can't leave him."

"I will check on him now. Hopefully, he is conscious enough to understand what I am saying. If not... well we'll have to play it by ear then. Now go."

Sharkey headed back to the barracks. He stopped in front of his quarters and stared at the oven for a moment. "Damn them. I'll make them pay."

Lombok meanwhile made his way to the oven and began to call softly to the admiral. After several attempts and no reply, he made his way to the gate and left, calling to the guards that he was checking on the fence lines.

He walked around to the area where Crane and the others waited impatiently.

"What's the word Lombok?

"Are they all right?"

"Where's the admiral?" Everyone started talking at once. Lombok held up his hand. "Calm down and keep low. We don't want them seeing us. Yet."

"Sharkey is fine but he says according to another prisoner Nelson was interrogated all morning and then put into what they have taken to calling the "oven"." Lombok looked about them carefully, then continued, "He's still there but I can't get a response from him. I don't know if he is alive or not. I'm sorry."

The _Seaview's_ men looked away, anger etched in their faces for the atrocities their friends had been forced to endure.

"What in all that's precious is an oven?" asked Morton.

"An instrument of torture, Commander- a hot box if you will. It's intended to weaken even the strongest of prisoners. No food. No water. Just unbearable heat." Lombok pointed towards the box. "According to what I was able to pick up from the guards, the last man put in there died. We don't have much time, gentlemen. Captain, are your men ready?"

"They've_been_ ready! Ever since they heard they were alive."

"All right. You two," Lombok said pointing to Kowalski and Patterson, "Take the explosive pack there and make your way to the fuel dump. Wait there until you hear the first explosions. Trais was able to plant a few explosive charges on the perimeter and in the ammo and fuel dump areas. That's where you two come in. As soon as the first one goes, which should be in about 30 minutes, blow the fence line and come in through the hole. Take out all the guards you can and get as many prisoners as you can find moving toward the gate."

Lombok turned to Crane and Morton. "Captain, I want you, Barton and Commander Morton to wait outside the fence until the shooting starts. Once the fence goes, I want you three to head in through the gate. Morton, you and Barton take out the guard tower in the northern section. Trais will take care of the southern one."

"What about the admiral?" Crane asked anxiously.

"That's where you come in Crane. I assume you would like to be the one to free your friend?" At Crane's nod, Lombok continued. "As soon as the guard towers are gone, you move in and get Nelson out of there. Don't expect him to be conscious. You'll have to carry him to the gate. By that time I or Trais will have commandeered a truck and will have it waiting at the gate. All right. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I've got one," Kowalski said. "What about that... what about Malek? We aren't going to just leave him there are we?"

"We'll worry about him when the time comes. Right now the important thing is those men in there. Anything else? All right. Let's move. It's almost time."

Lombok, Kowalski and Patterson moved out while Crane, Barton and Morton moved a bit deeper into the jungle to keep watch and wait. They saw Sharkey come out of the barracks and move off to the one next to it. A few minutes later he came out and stood in front of his quarters, staring at the oven. A guard moved up beside him and gestured him back inside. With undisguised hate, he did as he was told.

Crane tried to keep track of the movements of Lombok but lost him in the ever growing darkness. Time seemed to stand still as the men waited impatiently for the signal to move into position. After months of believing Nelson and Sharkey were dead, it was hard to believe they were so close to freeing them from the hell they had been living in.

Without warning, the first explosion lit up the darkened jungle, startling the men concealed in the brush. They ran towards the gate and found the compound littered with bodies already. Prisoners ran in every direction with Sharkey close behind herding them towards the gate.

Morton and Barton ran off to eliminate the guard tower which was putting down a heavy volley of gunfire into the compound while Crane ran off in the direction of the box that held his friend.

Some of the prisoners remained in their barracks waiting for the right moment to move out. The night was lit up as the north and south guard towers exploded in flames, the remains falling into the compound. At the same time, the explosives planted in the fuel and ammo dumps detonated, sending debris high into the sky. Kowalski and Patterson set off the charges by the fence line and burst through the opening, spraying machine gun fire at the retreating rebels.

A truck appeared by the front gate and Sharkey gave the signal to the other prisoners to move out towards the waiting truck. He watched as the prisoners hobbled, limped and dragged themselves towards freedom. Then he ran back into the compound and towards where the captain struggled to free the admiral from his prison. He stopped at a body lying on the ground and turned it over. Smiling, he reached into the man's pocket and took out a set of keys, then ran on.

"Skipper! Here!" Sharkey said, handing him the set of keys. "One of these is the right one to open the door. Give me your gun."

Crane handed him the semi-automatic and went to work on the lock, not noticing that Sharkey had taken the gun and headed off towards the firing.

"Hang on, Admiral. Just hang on," Crane whispered as he struggled with the lock. A few seconds later and the lock opened. Crane swung the door open and peered into the dark, stifling interior, gasping at the heat that escaped from the open door. "Admiral!"

Nelson's haggard, bruised face appeared in the doorway. "Wh... what took...you so long?" he asked, weakly with a thin smile.

Grinning broadly, Crane pulled Nelson from the box just as Morton and Barton made their way through the compound to his side.

"Come on! We've got to get out of here!" Morton yelled.

"Wh...where's Sh...Sharkey?" Nelson asked weakly as they pulled him to his feet.

Crane looked about him. "I don't know. He was here a minute ago. He gave me the keys and then took my gun."

"No! No. He's... he's... after Malek. You've got to stop him, Lee. He'll... he..." Crane grabbed for Nelson as the older man collapsed in his arms.

"Chip. Find Sharkey. Get him to the truck. Now! We don't have time for vengeance!" Crane and Barton moved off towards the gate half-carrying, half-dragging the unconscious Nelson with them.

Sharkey had headed for Malek's building, dodging gunfire as he did so, knowing the man would be inside. He burst through the front door of the despised building.

"Malek! Where are you, you slimy... Malek!" Sharkey searched through each room, kicking open the doors to the rooms that had been the site of most of the interrogations. Frustration mounted as his search proved fruitless. He lowered his rifle and leaned against a doorjamb, his mind numb with fatigue. After all this, Malek was going to escape. The rage he felt poured out of him and he slammed his hand into the door.

"Careful, my friend. You don't want to hurt yourself."

Sharkey turned at the sound of the hated voice. Malek stood in a corner with a gun pointed at Sharkey's chest.

"Really. Did you think you would escape? None of you will escape. None of you!" He walked towards the Chief, smiling his grotesque smirk. "Put your gun down. Now!"

Reluctantly, Sharkey put his gun on the floor, hate filling his face. "I'll kill you. Maybe not today. But some day. Someday I'll have my vengeance on you for all you've put us through," Sharkey said in a low tone.

"And what is there to stop me from killing you now, my friend?" Malek walked closer to Sharkey and aimed the muzzle of the gun at his face. He hesitated a moment, a slow smile beginning to form and then there was a shot. Malek froze for a moment and then toppled over onto Sharkey, who dropped him, distaste written on his face. He looked behind him and saw a dark skinned man pointing a gun at him. The man stared at the body on the floor for a moment, gave a brief nod and then motioned Sharkey to pick up his gun and follow him.

They exited the building and ran smack into Morton.

"Chief! Man am I glad to see you! Come on we've got to get out of here."

"The admiral?"

Morton turned back to him. "It's ok. The captain has him. He's alive. Let's just get out of here."

The three men ran through the compound that was littered with bodies. Sporadic gunfire met them but they arrived unmolested at the truck. Nelson, bruised, battered and drenched in sweat, was cradled in Crane's arms, unconscious but breathing. Several of their fellow prisoners sat in the truck waiting and smiling.

"Chief! Glad you could make it. Come on. Let's go."

Sharkey climbed into the truck and smiled at the friends he saw there and the faces of the men he had lived, worked and suffered with the past four months.

"We made it." Sharkey looked down at the face of the unconscious admiral and put a hand on his arm. "He said we would. And we did."

~O~

Crane stood outside the door to the Sick Bay for a moment listening to the voices he heard from within.

"I said I am all right! I don't need any more..."

"And I said you do. I am in charge here, Admiral. Not you. And as far as I know...you're still considered dead. So in theory at least you can't give me orders."

Crane smiled at the exchange and thought back over the past week. It had taken a lot less time to reach the shore in the trucks than it had walking through the dense jungle. On the way, Nelson had regained and lost consciousness several times. Each time he was awake, they had encouraged him to drink as much water as possible, hoping to ward off the devastating effects of severe dehydration caused by being locked in the hot box.

They had parted ways with Lombok and Trais and rowed back to the _Seaview_ where Nelson and Sharkey were greeted with joy. The admiral regained consciousness briefly on entering his boat, reveled in the knowledge he was home and promptly passed out again. He was hurried to the Sick Bay where he was still a patient, nearly a week later. He'd remained unconscious for the better part of the first two days. Exhausted, malnourished, dehydrated and beaten, it was a miracle he still lived: a miracle Crane and the others on board the _Seaview_ gave thanks for.

A call to the Institute shortly after they were sure the admiral would survive had produced tears once again but this time they were tears of joy as Edith and Angie, and the rest of the Institute, celebrated the shocking news the men were alive.

The others from the camp were ensconced in various cabins throughout the ship or in the Sick Bay for treatment of their injuries. Those from Qualan had stayed behind with Lombok and Trais to continue the fight against the rebels that threatened daily to tear their country apart. Of the forty-three men originally taken from the "peace" talks, only twenty-one escaped. The rebels had been dealt a serious blow by the loss of Malek and his camp. A blow Crane and others hoped they never recovered from.

Repercussions concerning The People's Republic's possible involvement with the rebels and the kidnapping and abuse of Admiral Nelson and the others were ongoing as was the investigations.

"You're lucky you're even here! Alive! And as for that leg of yours! You're lucky you even have a leg there! After what it looked like a few days ago I…"

"Jamie, I know I'm lucky. All I'm saying…"

"I know what you're saying, Admiral. You know best. Well…"

"Look…"

"No, you look! Taking this medicine and doing what I tell you are for your best. There's still infection in your leg and you still have a fever. "

"It's not much of a fever. I…"

"Not much? Admiral…"

Laughing at the two men and their bickering, Crane decided he should intervene and entered the room, pausing to take in the scene before him. Nelson, his wounded leg propped on pillows, was lying in the bunk he had occupied since his return from Qualan. Bruises on Nelson's face and body had begun to fade and ribs that had been broken had been treated and begun finally to mend. The doctor was hovering over him with a cup full of medicine.

"Captain, help me here. He doesn't seem to understand. Perhaps you will have more luck than I seem to be having with the admiral. He seems to feel he knows better than I do what is best for him."

Smiling, he walked to the admiral's bedside, a place he had spent many hours at over the past few days, watching, worrying and waiting.

"Me? Have luck getting the admiral to do something he doesn't want? You must be joking!" he said with a smile. "Sorry, Doc. This is your department not mine. However, I will remind the admiral that if he should have a relapse between here and home, I can think of two women waiting in Santa Barbara that will want some answers as I just told them, again, you were doing fine."

"You talked to Edith and Angie?" Nelson asked with a slight smile.

"Yes. And I assured them, again, that you would make a full recovery. Right, Doc?"

"As long as he listens to his doctor, he should. And that means taking any and all medications I prescribe. Right, Admiral?"

With a scowl, Nelson nodded his head and took the offered medicine. With a look of revulsion, Nelson inquired, in a not too quiet voice, just what the devil was in that stuff.

Laughing, Crane headed out the door of the sick bay. Things were back to normal. After the past few long months, things were back to normal.

The End

Thanks for reading "Return From Darkness" and for all the reviews! They are appreciated!


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